Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor

by Rue Allyn

  “Devlin, shall I see you to your bed?” his mother asked.

  At the duke’s side, the immense man called Bear loomed, having retreated only a couple of paces.

  While her husband and all three sons held Bear in the highest regard, the dowager only tolerated him, thus, the huge man was seldom inside the house. Her attention turned back to Devlin as he responded.

  “Madam, you have neither said my prayers nor tucked me in for the past twenty years, thank God.” She took his arm and turned him, but he balked. “I want to see Jessica.”

  “She is bathing.”

  “It’s perfectly proper. She is a child and I am a blind man.”

  “Well, then, you cannot see her anyway, so be off to bed and I will escort her when she is presentable.”

  “I didn’t mean see her in the literal sense. I want to hear her voice so I may determine her well-being.”

  “Do you think you know her so well, my son, after a night’s ride together, that you can discern her condition merely by the timbre of her voice?”

  His shoulders squared, although the change in posture seemed to take great effort. “Regardless of your assurances, I wish to speak with her. Will you stand aside, or shall I summon Bear’s assistance?”

  She studied him a moment and wondered where her jovial, ever-obedient son had gone, giving his body over to this obviously spent but determined man.

  Of the dowager’s three sons, Devlin had always been the most compliant. Yet today, something about their unpretentious female visitor had aroused his protective instincts. Surely a country maid could not have acquired such influence after so short an acquaintance. Devlin had fended off courtesans far more practiced than this thin sprite.

  As the duke drew a breath, pain etched his face. Seeing his effort, the dowager relented. “I will allow you to speak to her from the bedchamber, but you are not to venture closer.”

  “This is my home, madam.”

  “And I am your mother, Devlin. I will not have you address me in those lofty tones or I shall order the girl returned to her people immediately.”

  Devlin’s shoulders bent as if under a sudden weight. Bear stepped close and said, “Please, Your Grace.”

  Neither Devlin nor his mother seemed certain to which of them Bear addressed his appeal.

  “All right,” Devlin said, first to yield. “I only want to hear her voice to assure myself she is not feeling threatened among so many strangers.”

  The dowager regarded him skeptically. “You think you will be able to determine that merely by hearing her voice?”

  “Yes.”

  The older woman studied him another moment, acutely aware of his fatigue.

  The duchess took Devlin’s arm, led him through the bedchamber and positioned him at the door to the bathing room. She did not, however, allow him to stand where he would be able to see Jessica should his eyesight suddenly, miraculously return.

  “Jessica,” she said, needlessly summoning the girl’s attention, “Devlin is here and concerned for your well-being. Please reassure him that you are all right so that we may return him to his bed.”

  There was a splash, followed by coaxing voices. Then he heard Jessica’s musical giggle, joined by two other women whose laughs he did not recognize.

  “Jessica? Are you being well served?”

  Her giggling continued. “Yes, Your Grace, I am.”

  “What was that splashing? Did you fall?”

  “I was alarmed to hear you speak when I am … when I was … ”

  “My voice frightened you?”

  “I am not accustomed to the ways of a great house, Your Grace. In Welter, women do not converse with men from the bath or, well, when they are inadequately clothed.”

  His throaty chuckle prefaced a comeback. “Oh, I suspect such conversations do occur. I am pleased to learn, however, that you have not yet participated in those communications.”

  Her laughter pealed with his. “Perhaps they do occur, but as you rightly suppose, I have not experienced them, at least not until now. Would you please be away to your sickbed?”

  “Only if you will come visit me, when you are adequately clothed, of course.”

  She peeked at Odessa, who had withdrawn into the corner but who nodded, granting a servant’s permission for the visitor to interview the lord of the manor in his bedchamber when she was properly attired.

  “I will be there before you sleep, Your Grace,” Jessica said.

  He muttered, “I am certain of that.”

  Hearing the aside, his mother peered at him and wondered at this son’s peculiar behavior, marveling again that he had always been the most sensible of her three.

  The eldest of her three boys, Rothchild, had been haunted throughout his short span by the prospect of someday assuming the duties of a duke. Studies came hard to Roth. He dedicated himself to pleasing his father, and her, too, she supposed.

  Their youngest son, Lattimore, on the other hand, was frivolous, more interested in playing and hatching mischief among the servants or the livestock or the neighbors.

  Devlin, the middle son, the moderate one, seemed more like her family, particularly her father. Devlin was the levelheaded one, the son who exercised the soundest judgment.

  She guided Devlin back through the bedchamber, ignoring Bear, who waited silently a step beyond the outside door. She handed Devlin off to his valet Henry after extracting assurances the duke would be put directly to bed. Then she returned to the bathing room, eager to reevaluate this mysterious person who had entered their lives so unexpectedly and already exercised such influence on Devlin.

  Jessica caught the dowager’s perplexed look.

  “Now,” Lady Anne said, “you may continue with your bath.”

  Jessica brooded, sensing that her initial interview with the dowager had not gone well, even before Devlin’s interruption. She didn’t know exactly why not.

  The noble woman returned to stand near the side of the tub and regarded Jessica oddly, as if she wished to resume their discussion. How had she offended the lady?

  “I am to address you and your son both as Your Grace,” Jessica said, attempting to discover where she might have misstepped. “That is correct, isn’t it?”

  The dowager bestowed a judicious smile and a nod, maintaining a probing look as if trying to fathom the girl’s mind.

  Jessica rescrubbed her face with the cloth, hoping to cleanse any residual smudges that might be the reason for the dowager’s determined scrutiny.

  “How do you think he is, Your Grace, beyond the temporary blindness, of course? I thought perhaps he was acting strangely, if you will forgive my saying so. Of course, I have no idea of how he normally behaves.” She floundered for more to say. “And you do.”

  Jessica pulled the cloth down to watch as the studiously solemn face of the Duchess of Fornay broke with the most beautiful, infectious smile Jessica had ever seen. She returned the smile, blossoming in the glow of what appeared to be approval.

  “Did I say something right?” Jessica knew her confusion showed in her face, which she suspected was transparent as always.

  “You did, my dear.” There was a lilt in the woman’s words. “Devlin was absolutely right. You are quite disarming.”

  Gloom reformed in the duchess’s face. “He has a nasty gash across the back of his head.” The woman hesitated and Jessica nodded, indicating she was aware of the injury. “It appears to have bled profusely, which is probably a godsend. The doctor has seen him.”

  “My, your physician certainly came promptly.”

  The older woman again registered her approval. “Yes, Dr. Brussel is a friend and a neighbor, as well as our physician.”

  “Is the gash Dev … the duke’s only injury?”

  “They tell me he has bruises and scrapes, but nothing else of consequence.”

  In all the activity and conversation, Jessica had forgotten the pleasure of the tub. “What word did the doctor have concerning his eyesight?”
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br />   The duchess bit her lips. “He hopes the blindness is temporary. He said Devlin’s eyesight can return in a blink, or it may return slowly, over time.”

  Jessica immediately adopted the woman’s hope. “The condition probably will not be permanent. I’ve heard of that, temporary loss of sight after a severe blow to the head. Haven’t you? Such injuries usually heal, with time and rest.” She paused. Her words had come in a rush without allowing time for a response. Jessica wanted what she said to be true. She didn’t want to entertain the other, bleak possibility. In truth, she had never heard of such a positive end, but nurtured hope that the duchess had. “Don’t they?”

  The duchess nodded, but looked distressed as she stared at the figured carpeting covering the floor at the side of the tub. She pivoted, crossed her arms and paced several steps without speaking, then said, “I have summoned his brother from London. Lattimore is a bright, cheerful influence, in spite of the fact he never lights anywhere long. Devlin may have need of Lattie’s positive attitude.”

  Her eyes met Jessica’s. “Oh, my dear, I did not mean to imply that you have been in any way remiss. It was wonderful of you to find and return Devlin to us. We appreciate your trouble and your dedication in seeing him safely home.”

  Jessica smiled. “I am not offended, Your Grace. As I am sure your son told you, I must leave immediately. My mother depends on me and I have other responsibilities as well.” She saw no need to mention her hens, their care and feeding or the mucking out of their pens. A peer of the realm certainly had no need of information like that.

  The duchess looked alarmed. “Oh my dear girl, you cannot possibly leave until you are properly rewarded.”

  The water was cooling around her. Although Jessica wanted to stay and continue enjoying the delicate fragrance of the soap, she felt obliged to forfeit the tub to provide what comfort she could to her hostess.

  As she gathered herself and prepared to stand, however, the duchess called out. “Sophie, fetch the kettle to warm this water. And prepare the rinse kettles, as well.”

  Turning back to Jessica, the dowager said, “Stay just where you are, darling. You haven’t yet had full benefit of the bath you so heroically earned.” She hesitated, studying Jessica’s dark, tangled hair. “Would you allow me to suds your hair for you?”

  Stunned at the suggestion, Jessica didn’t answer immediately, but ceased her effort to quit the tub.

  “I’ll do it,” Odessa offered, suddenly reappearing from the far corner of the chamber where she had stood silently, allowing the two ladies uninterrupted conversation.

  The duchess seemed to have attached her mind to the idea. “I had only three sons,” she said, regarding Jessica’s dark, abundant curls. “They, of course, had nurses and governesses, while I traveled with their father much of the time.” Her thoughts seemed to wander, before her eyes focused again on Jessica. “I would consider it a privilege to wash your hair for you, Jess.”

  The dowager adopted the abbreviated form of her name others sometimes insisted on using, against her mother’s wishes.

  With that, Lady Anne Miracle, the Dowager Duchess of Fornay, dropped to her knees, pushed up the sleeves of her gold brocade morning dress and grabbed the round cake of scented soap.

  Chapter Four

  After looking in on a sleeping Devlin, Jessica spent the morning in a sort of stupor — her thinking dulled perhaps by her lack of sleep — waiting for the duke to rouse.

  She paced to the broad windows of her chamber that looked out over grassy lots separated by fences. Sweetness grazed in one by the cart trail, the road the serving ladies indicated led to Welter. She should leave, but she wanted to see Devlin one more time, and then she would be away.

  Turning from the window, Jessica eyed the full-length mirror, embarrassed to see herself entirely from top to toe. She moved closer to inspect her reflection in greater detail, gathered the length of her dress and pulled it up, little at a time, afraid of shocking herself with saucy revelations. She had never seen herself — not all of her, anyway. She felt vain admiring her reflection so brazenly, yet her appearance came as a pleasant surprise. She was more proportionate, more attractive, than she had imagined.

  Twisting, she attempted to view the exposed backs of her legs and hips. After much repositioning and lengthy study, she smiled into the reflection of her own face.

  She dropped her skirts and tugged the scooping neckline off of one shoulder for further inspection. Biting her lips at her own audacity and surprised by her lack of modesty, she squirmed to unfasten the dress and pull it down to expose the chemise. Nervously, she slid the undergarment down to examine her full, rounded breasts. She cupped and examined each one from several angles, blushing and smiling at her own effrontery.

  Her curiosity sated, Jessica readjusted her clothing and promised herself that, if she ever undressed in a room alone, assured of complete privacy, in front of such a mirror, she would take full, unrestricted views of her person.

  She needed to be getting home as soon as she saw the duke and said her good-byes.

  Thoughts of that meeting and their conversation were interrupted by a commotion downstairs, like earlier ones that urged her out of her room to steal a look below.

  More callers, like those who had besieged the house through the morning, bearing gifts and food and inquiring after the duke. Jessica watched the comings and goings undetected. The visitors made her realize the duke was well known and, obviously well enough, admired … maybe even loved.

  Slipping downstairs, careful to avoid straggling visitors, staff, and family members, she marveled at the solarium, which might be a ballroom, if there were not already another vast chamber so designated. She stood in awe at the door to the great library that boasted four ladders extending to shelves high overhead.

  When Patterson, the majordomo, caught her sometime later standing at the door of a small salon, she started and apologized.

  “You are welcome to enjoy this room, as well as any others,” he said. “This salon is for entertaining small groups of ladies making social calls. It is probably where you will entertain your guests.”

  She smiled at the idea of her friends calling upon her here. Penny Anderson would probably swoon dead away if she were escorted into such a chamber.

  “And the duke’s gentlemen friends? Where does he entertain them?”

  Patterson indicated she should follow and led her to another salon near the library on the other side of the entry. “This is the duke’s study and his office where he meets with businessmen from time to time.”

  “Where does he entertain his female callers?”

  Patterson frowned. “He does not have female callers here, my lady.”

  She lowered her voice. “Will you tell me something of the older son, then, and how Devlin came to acquire the title? Was there bad blood among the three?”

  “No, my lady.” The man’s face softened. “Master Rothchild, the eldest, was devoted to duty. He did things properly and well, groomed as he was from birth to be a duke.”

  Hoping this reminiscing might take a while, Jessica settled lightly on a window seat, prepared to listen.

  “Master Rothchild was mortally injured in a duel over the reputation of Lady Jane Sequest, a woman who, it is said, maintains a list of men who died defending her honor. She added two names to her list that morning. Master Roth’s opponent died, gasping for air around the ball lodged in his throat. The dying man’s shot went through Roth’s liver and pierced a kidney.”

  The old servant seemed to age, diminishing as his shoulders slumped with the memory. While Jessica did not like seeing his distress, she thought speaking of the death of a loved one sometimes aided the handling of one’s grief. Also, she was curious about how the elder son’s demise affected the family.

  “The damage to either organ would have been fatal,” Patterson continued, as if he were alone. “A London physician told us it scarcely mattered which failed first. The family returned to Gull’s W
ay, the ancestral home.”

  Suddenly, he glanced into her face and regarded Jessica earnestly, as if concerned that she understand the import of his words. “Master Roth spent his final days in excruciating pain, not only his, but his family’s.

  “Until then, Devlin — that is, His Grace — had been the lighthearted middle son. He was a better scholar than Master Roth. Of course, he did not have the pressure that weighted Master Roth’s efforts.

  “As Master Roth lay dying, Devlin grew solemn as he anticipated a role he felt ill-prepared to take up. His father assured him, but the old duke’s grief had himself tied in knots. He loved each of his sons equally, but he had not considered his second son might acquire the title.”

  Patterson paused and Jessica patted the cushion beside her. He eased onto the far end of the window seat. A glint of tears seeped from the corners of his eyes.

  “Of course, Devlin had the intelligence and the courage to assume the responsibilities,” she suggested, to waylay his sadness and keep him talking.

  “You may be assured of that, Miss. He is, after all, a Miracle. Blood will tell.”

  “What of Lattimore? Did he share the family’s grief?”

  Patterson regarded her with what looked like annoyance. “Certainly, Miss, although Master Lattie was only thirteen at the time.”

  Quiet for a moment, Patterson smiled slightly at what seemed a bittersweet memory. “It was the youngest who said, ‘At least a fatal injury, rather than instantaneous death, provided time for us to say farewell, and to adjust.’”

  “Did his experience make his brothers more aware of the dangers in duels and other ridiculous gestures?”

  Patterson gave her a wry smile. “No. Rather than making the young masters more cautious, Roth’s passing made life the most intriguing gamble of all. His Grace, particularly, tossed life’s dice fiercely, daring fate to take up his often-flung gauntlet.

  “Eventually, Master Lattie, too, followed the pattern set by both of his elder brothers.”

  Patterson stood abruptly. “Please forgive me, Miss. I don’t know what possessed me to confide this family’s private concerns. I generally am not given to gossip.”